Anarchy Comes in a Syringe
by ThePeriwinkleWitch
Summary: "John McDonough? That waste of space is dead. It's John Hancock now." When exactly did John McDonough become John Hancock? How did Fahrenheit get her name? What's being the mayor of Goodneighbor like? Hancock takes us on a ride through his past. (Rated M for smut, foul language, graphic violence, and torture)


**Anarchy Comes in a Syringe**

 **[A Hancock and Fahrenheit Story]**

* * *

Another night hiding in the alleyway while acts of cruelty went on in the streets of Goodneighbor. I smoked a cigarette, the red hot cherry being the only thing that illuminated the blackness surrounding me. All the while, the screams of a man being beaten to death on the sidewalk some feet away from my location finally started to subside.

I wasn't the only one taking refuge in the alley. A few other unlucky drifters sat there with their backs against the walls, some with fear in their eyes, others with empty, unfeeling stares. When was the nightmare going to end? We all waited for the cries to die down in the streets before we even thought about walking out in the open.

Vic's boys were on a roll lately. One beating after another, they slowly got cockier. Good reason, too. We were all afraid of 'em . . . Their laughs echoed through Goodneighbor's abandoned streets. No one wanted to be witness to another victim of our 'beloved mayor,' so, naturally, people with homes ran inside and locked their doors. Us drifters were the real victims, nine times outta ten.

I dropped the butt of my cigarette on the ground and snuffed it out with my shoe. I shoved my hands in my jeans pockets and leaned against the wall with a huff. It had gotten pretty quiet out in the streets, but we knew. We knew that Vic's boys were still out there. So we waited in silence until we knew they were done looking for victims. We thanked God that they didn't look in our alley to snatch one of us up – they'd done it before.

We thanked God . . . only to turn around and curse Him for not doing a damn thing about this madness.

I glanced down at my ripped white t-shirt and dusted the loose ashes from it, then returned my hand to my pocket. My fingers met the handle of an inhaler – jet. I moved my fingers around the familiar piece of plastic, itching for another hit, but now wasn't the time nor the place. Instead, I slid down the wall and sat on the two-hundred-year-old asphalt by my fellow drifters and waited out the terror of another sleepless night.

* * *

"Goddamn it," said a shaky, desperate-sounding voice.

I remembered falling asleep just as the sun started coming up. The voice stirred me awake. I found myself lying on the ground, the sunlight bleeding through my eyelids. I sat up and dusted out my ridiculously long light-brown hair. When I searched around for the voice, I saw a man with tattered clothes and shaggy gray hair and a scraggly beard standing at the far corner of the alley. I stood up and dusted myself off before walking over to him.

He flinched away from me at first. "W-what do you want?"

"Hey, bud." I approached him slowly. "What's the problem?"

His body was shaking all over. "I n-need a fix. I need some or I'm g-gonna die . . ."

His symptoms were obvious. The nervousness, shaking, stuttering – seen it a million times. I searched through my pockets for a syringe of med-x and handed it to the man.

"You're giving this to me?"

"Take it, man. You need it."

Without hesitation, he grabbed the syringe out of my hand and jabbed it into the vein in his arm. His shaking slowly subsided. I knew it was only temporary, but it was a small mercy. Too many people suffered in this town.

"Thank you so much . . ." The man relaxed against the wall. "I think I'm gonna stay here a while and . . . ride it out."

I nodded. "What's your name?"

"Frank."

"Frank. Well, Frank, you take care of yourself." I patted his shoulder and turned to walk away.

It was the first time I had left the alley in hours – half a day, even. I found a nice, secluded corner, unzipped my fly, and took a piss.

"Hey, you," said a woman's voice.

Without stopping the act of relieving myself, I turned my head to see a red-headed lady looking at me with her arms crossed. "What? Like what you see?" I asked with a smirk, motioning to my dick.

"Hardly. Wanted to talk to you."

I put my junk away and zipped up my pants. "I'm low on caps and chems, sweetheart, so take your business elsewhere. Unless _you're_ paying . . ."

Her eyebrows pinched together in a look of frustration.

"I'm messing with you. Didn't take ya for a whore. You're not wearin' an old curtain for a dress."

Past my joking, I really did mean that. She looked more like a merc. She had leather arm guards and leg guards, she holstered a pistol on her leg and a machine gun on her back. One side of her head was completely shaved, and the other side was kept about jaw-length. She had the look of someone who just saw their grandpa naked; her whole face was placid and unamused.

"What do you want?"

"That guy. You helped him. Why?"

I shoved my hands in my pockets. "What are ya, a stalker?"

"Just someone who's looking for work. Instead, I found a selfless man in a city of cowards."

"Heh. You don't know anything about me, lady . . ."

I was far from selfless. Sure, I tried my best to help others when I could afford it, but I protected my own hide around Goodneighbor when I needed to. Just like everyone else, I roamed the streets when it was acceptable, and I hid when I knew there was trouble.

"You got a cigarette?" she asked suddenly.

I fished through my pocket for my cigarette pack and pulled a cigarette out. I handed it to her. She placed the cigarette between her thin lips and used a flip lighter from her pocket to light it.

"Thanks."

"What brings a merc to Goodneighbor?"

"What brings a merc anywhere? Work."

"Good luck findin' work around here. Mayor Vic ain't been known to work well with others. If he wants somethin' done, he'll do it himself. Or, rather, he'll have his goons to do it for him."

"There's gotta be somebody around here that needs something done."

"Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart. I'd just head back wherever I came from if I were you. Get outta here while ya can." I turned to walk back to the main road of Goodneighbor, and there on the sidewalk was the limp, almost unidentifiable body of a guy I once knew. Must have been the one they beat to death last night. "Sons of bitches . . ." I muttered.

I heard her footsteps behind me. "What happened here?"

I swallowed down my rage and tried to compose myself. "The mayor had a debt to settle."

"This town seriously lets the mayor do shit like this? What's wrong with everybody?"

I turned to her. "We don't 'let' him. It's either this, or livin' outside that wall." I pointed in the direction of Goodneighbor's gates. The city ruins outside was overrun by super mutants, feral ghouls, and only God knew what else.

Most of the people here in Goodneighbor just kept their heads down. The folks who owned homes here paid Vic a hefty sum to live in them – usually a 150 cap weekly payment. Some sold the shirts off their own backs just to make enough to stay. The worst part about it were the drifters. Lots of the drifters came from Diamond City. Diamond City was controlled by another sick mayor: Mayor McDonough. My own brother.

My brother wanted to become mayor so bad, he started the Anti-Ghoul Campaign to appeal to the upper stands citizens in Diamond City – the posh folk – and won their votes. The same day he took office, the city turned on the ghouls living there. Kicked whole families out to the ruins. I tried to get him to stop the campaign, but he wouldn't betray his voters. I never knew my brother was such a sick bastard. I was so disgusted, I left with the ghouls and led them to Goodneighbor. I knew the safe routes, because I had been sneaking to Goodneighbor for years for decent chems. Many ghoul families didn't survive. Some disappeared. Others couldn't get used to the Goodneighbor lifestyle. And some, like the poor soul on the pavement that no one bothered to clean up, were killed when Vic was in a bad mood and took it out on the populace at large.

"Vic has guns," I continued, "caps, manpower. He's in charge here, and his lackeys live in the lap of luxury as long as they do what he says."

"Go somewhere else."

"There ain't nowhere else."

"Diamond Ci-?"

"No. I won't set foot in that cesspool. Don't know what you're lookin' to find here, sister, but it ain't here."

I bent my knees and leaned down toward the body. I wrapped my arms around the torso, careful not to let the head fall off of the body as it was barely hanging on by the tissue on one side. I groaned and huffed underneath the literal dead weight. It's not like Goodneighbor had a cemetary, so we tossed the bodies outside the gate and set them on fire.

The red-haired lady was still following me. She grabbed the ankles of the body and picked them up.

"I got it."

"Just let me help."

"I said I got it," I growled. This was something I needed to do. She wasn't from around here. She was an outsider. This wasn't her problem.

Instead of letting go of the ankles, she continued to carry them toward the gate with me. I slipped outside quietly so we didn't alert any super mutants or other hostiles, and we dropped him over toward the far left side. I picked up a gasoline can that only had a little left in it and dumped the remainder of it's contents on the guy's body. I fished out my flip lighter and set him on fire.

I eyed the red-head that followed me out here. "I said I had it."

She just shrugged. "Looked like you needed help."

"Well, I ain't payin' ya, if that's what you're thinkin'."

"Carrying a dead body a few feet isn't exactly worth a hundred caps. Consider it charity work."

I took the jet canister out of my pocket and inhaled the contents. One hit was never enough. I inhaled a second hit as soon as I needed a breath. The world seemed to slow down around me. I stood over the burning body as the flames danced over him in slow motion. It's not exactly like I had a eulogy prepared, so I just stood there in silence.

"You-u-u gonna-a-a be-e-e all-l-l ri-i-ight?"

"Just get outta here," I told her. "There's a bar underneath the Old State House. You might find work there."

When she finally left me alone, my high started to wear off. I tried to take another hit, but the jet canister was empty. I threw it on the ground and kicked it into a pile of garbage and rubble across the street. I hadn't seen a good chem dealer come around in over a week, and I was starting to get antsy.

It's not like I had any money. I had various ways of making caps, all based on my areas of expertise. I searched around my pockets for any caps I could find, and found six. That was enough to buy a beer at the Third Rail, the bar beneath the Old State House.

When I walked in, Whitechapel Charlie was working the bar, as always. He was a reprogrammed Mr. Handy Bot. The only time I didn't mind robots was when they were serving the drinks. He had a heavy English accent and no sense of humor, but he was my kind of guy. I strolled on in and made myself at home. I practically lived at the Third Rail when Vic wasn't around. The bar, along with everything else in Goodneighbor, belonged to Vic.

"Mr. McDonough," he greeted me.

"Just John, Chuck."

"Wot can I get for you this evening?"

"I don't honestly give a shit."

He turned and pulled a bourbon off the shelf. He poured a glass for me and slid it across the bar. "Let me guess," he said as he put the bottle back. "You're putting this on your ever-growing tab."

"You got it." I took a gulp of the bourbon. "Thanks, Chuck."

"You look like you need it. It's almost like every time I see you, you're just an inch closer to death."

"Pfft. I didn't come here to ask for your opinion."

"I'm just sayin', gov. You only get one life to live. You gotta take care o' you."

I waved a dismissive hand at him and turned around in the stool. I leaned my elbows and back against the bar and overlooked the patrons. There weren't a lot of people in here, but I recognized a few drifters and residents. A young woman walked up to the bar beside me. She wore a thin blue strapless dress. She had a pair of black flats on. Her hair was brown and tangled.

"I'll take a whiskey," he said to Charlie.

"Whoa, darlin'," I stopped her.

She turned to me with an inquisitive look.

"You don't look like a whiskey kind of gal."

She put a hand on her hip. "And what do I look like to you?"

"One hell of a good time," I said in a low gravel. I gave her a wink.

Her cheeks went red. "Well, at least buy my vodka first."

"Done." I threw some caps on the counter. "We'll take that to-go Charlie."

Charlie rolled his sensors. "It ain't like I have a solo cup and a straw . . ." He poured the vodka for her. "You owe me a glass, John."

I took her glass in one hand and her arm in another.

"Where you from, doll?"

"Well, I'm originally from a farm. I didn't like the lifestyle. So I moved out here."

"A delicate lady such as yourself shouldn't have to do all that work, anyhow."

"You're certainly a smooth talker."

"I try."

"Where are we headed, exactly?" She smirked.

"Anywhere you want. I'll give ya a tour of the town."

She thought for a moment, then said, "I've never done it on a rooftop before."

* * *

I hiked her dress up as I leaned her over the side of the roof. Her hands braced on the low stone wall around the edge. My fingers slipped in and out of her folds to get her warmed up. She moaned with pleasure as I dipped my head down and got on my knees to lick at her wetness. Her knees were already quaking.

I stood up and unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down to my knees. I was solid as a rock. I slid my girth inside of her easily.

"Fuck," I breathed. I reached down into my pants pocket and pulled out three mentats. I dry swallowed them and waited for the high to take effect, pumping into her slowly.

"Oh, shit," she moaned.

The chems started to take effect, and my mind started to wander in different directions. Sensations became easier felt. Thoughts were smoother and less cluttered.

This girl. I wasn't interested in her romantically. She was just another quickie for me. She wasn't even my type. But I was a sucker for a pretty face. Booze, drugs, sex – the things that kept me from losing my damn mind in this godforsaken town.

I gripped her hips and started slamming into her. It felt so good. The chems were taking me for a ride. She screamed and gripped at the wall. She leaned down further and braced her shoulders on it, hiking her ass further up in the air. I slapped it and grabbed a handful firmly. I could tell when she started to come, because her knees buckled, sending us both crashing down on our knees on the hard concrete of the rooftop. I pumped into her wildly while her folds gripped at me and pulsated around me. I pulled out just as I started to come. Didn't want any little Johns running around . . .

I grabbed my shaft and pumped it by hand while she panted and caught her breath. I cursed under my breath as I came all over the concrete.

"That was . . ."

"I know, I know," I panted.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead and pulled her dress back down. "Now what?"

"Now, I'm gonna go get a beer."

"What, that's it?"

"That's it, doll."

She pouted. "I'll see you later?"

"I'll be around." I pulled my pants up and buttoned them. Then I pulled a cigarette and a lighter out of my pocket.

* * *

I ran my fingers through my messy, tangled hair and dropped my cigarette butt to the ground. I went back to my usual alleyway and met up with a chem dealer that usually opened up shop there.

It was a quiet night. I supposed that Vic's boys were taking the night off. Drinking booze, smoking cigars, playing cards, and complaining about the "idiot townspeople" summed up a night off in the Old State House.

"What's the specials today?" I asked the dealer.

Her name was Cricket. She sold everything from chems to guns to junk food. She was a jumpy, fidgety sort. There was a shake in her voice when she spoke, like she was constantly excited. She had a dirty face, sunken eyes, pale skin, and wore the usual drifter getup – dirty pants, a ripped coat, a hood, combat boots. I never judged her like most other people did. Hell, people like her were the freaks I got along with best.

"Oh, boy, have I got some surprises for you this time."

"Lay it on me."

"I've got some Daddy-O, psychotats, day tripper – "

"C'mon, Cricket. I need somethin' that's gonna knock me out for two days, ya feel me?"

She giggled her high-pitched, maniacal giggle. "I do have one thing. But it'll do more than knock you out for a few days. It could kill you."

"Seriously?"

She searched through her backpack at her feet and pulled out a little green glowing syringe.

"What the fuck is that?"

"This, my friend . . . is a one-of-a-kind, one-hit-only experimental radiation drug."

I looked around the alley for any other passersby. I poked my head out of the ally and checked to see if anyone was coming. Then I turned back to Cricket.

"You do realize that you brought a lethal chem to Goodneighbor, the shittiest town in the Commonwealth, right?"

She shrugged. "No one knew I had it. This is the first time I've shown it to anybody."

I had to admit, I was curious about it. A mixture of depression and a need for more exotic chems almost made me want to buy it.

"How much is that?" I pointed to the glowing syringe.

"More than you've got," she said.

I gritted my teeth. I knew I had a few extra things I could trade her in order to get this drug, but it'd take everything I had.

I put my hand in my other pocket – the one I kept all my "treasures" in – and showed her some gold and silver pocket watches, lockets, raw copper, and a few other things I'd salvaged.

Her eyes lit up. "Ooh, shinies."

"Yep, shinies. I give you this and one-hundred twenty-five caps, we'll be even?"

She nodded in approval. "We're square, John."

We exchanged the items and I quickly shoved the chem into my pocket. "It's been a pleasure as always, Cricket. Keep it real."

"You too, John." She left the alley and headed back to the gate. I knew her pack brahmin was waiting outside. She slipped in and out of Goodneighbor because Vic would tax her if he knew she was trading here.

The chem was almost buzzing in my pocket with radiation and a warmth that was like the warmth of a small flame. I kept rolling it around in my pocket, wondering when I should take it, if I'd take it at all. I knew that if I wanted to die, I'd just take this. There was a slight chance that it'd turn me ghoul, but I wasn't looking for that to happen. At least this way, I'd be high enough to not give a damn either way.

As I continued to walk down the streets, I heard a commotion down another alley. At first I brushed it off. Not like it didn't happen often. Probably some guy and his girl fighting. But when I got closer, I could hear the voices and what they were saying.

"Get the hell off of me," said a woman.

A man growled back at her, "You're feistier than most women I've ever met."

"You keep pointing that gun at me, you're gonna see how feisty I can get, fatass."

I crept around the corner with my back against the wall and peered into the alley. One of Vic's guys and that red-haired woman from before were standing tensely and facing each other. The woman was with her back against the wall, hands up in the air, and the man had a gun pointed at her. He was pretty heavy-set and wore a suit and fedora. He had a cigar in his mouth.

The man hit the woman in the temple with his machine gun. "Don't talk to me like that."

"Agh!" Her head flew to the side. She held onto her temple with her hand. "What do you even want from me? I'm broke. That's why I'm trying to find work."

"Tell you what," he said, rummaging through his pockets. He pulled out a sack of caps. "I'll give you some work to do. You turn around and put your hands against that wall."

"Fuck off, sicko. You're lucky you've got the upper hand, or I'd kill you in a heartbeat."

He reached for the fabric of her shirt under her armor and gave it a firm yank. The fabric ripped, exposing more of her flesh.

She had a hatred in her eyes, but a tear escaped as he placed a hand on the inside of her thigh.

A rage was building up inside of me. I rushed into the scene. I pulled my switchblade out of my boot and thrust it forward.

"What the – " was all he could say before I stabbed him in the gut.

The woman grabbed the machine gun from him and tossed it aside.

I pulled the knife from his gut and slit his throat. He grabbed at it with his free hand with wide eyes. He gurgled out a protest before falling on his back.

I grabbed the woman's hand and shoved my knife back in my pocket. "Let's get the hell out of here."

As we ran out of the alley, she tried to pull her hand away from me. "Why are we running? He's dead!"

"Trust me, we're gonna – " I skidded to a halt on the asphalt.

"John McDonough," said Vic himself. Behind him stood two more of his guards.

"Shit . . ." I let go of the woman's hand and motioned her to run ahead. The guards didn't apprehend her.

Vic always wore a black tux. He didn't wear a hat, because he slicked his hair back neatly on his square head. He was a hefty man with a deep voice. He was smiling at me as he pulled his sunglasses from his eyes and put them on the collar of his suit.

"Listen here, John." He approached me and put an arm around my shoulders.

My whole body went rigid. My heart was pounding behind my ears.

"I appreciate you wanting to be a do-gooder. I do. But you gotta understand one little thing. My boys have free roam around here. Hell, I admit, Adam was an asshole. If you roughed him up a bit, maybe I woulda commended you."

"Like hell you would . . ."

He raised his eyebrows. "Johnny, Johnny, Johnny. Why do you think I'm out here? I was gonna rough him up myself for acting out of line, and for not telling that pretty redhead to come to my office." He chuckled and lifted a finger. "But . . . you killed my man. I'm one man short now."

"Just get it over with," I mumbled.

"What's that?"

"Just kill me. A man for a man, right?"

He laughed. "Killing you would be a mercy, John. This is a _punishment_."

My palms were getting sweaty as he removed his arm from my shoulder. He walked by his two guards and waved his hand at them.

"Make sure he doesn't die," he muttered to them.

I went into fight or flight mode. Instead of running, I started swinging. I punched one guard in the mouth and started to go for the other before he grabbed my wrist. The one I punched in the mouth pushed me to the ground and kicked me in the gut. Vic just chuckled and walked away, leaving his men to torture me.

* * *

After they beat me to the point where I couldn't get up, they'd give me a stimpak to heal my wounds. Then, after I came around, they'd beat me again. Three times they did that. The last time, I wasn't graced with the mercy of a stimpak. They left me there in the street, bleeding and bruised. I hadn't wanted to die so much in my life.

My eye was swollen shut, my lip was bleeding, two ribs were broken. The worst part about it was, they ripped my shirt off and carved "Vic" into my shoulder blade. He owned my ass and didn't want me to forget it.

The woman found me barely conscious outside the alley. I saw the toe of her boot in front of my face. She bent down to look over me. I didn't even move. I just wanted her to look away. I was pathetic.

"Thank you," she whispered. "John, was it? Let me help you." She pressed her hand under my bare stomach and wedged her arm underneath me until she could lift me up. She grunted under my weight, but I was too weak to hold myself up. She finally lifted me as much as she could and dragged me through the street.

"Oh, my God!" yelled a familiar voice. It was the voice of a female ghoul. I recognized her as Daisy, the general store shop owner. "Is that John McDonough?"

"Do you know him? Can you help us?" asked the woman.

"Of course! Get him in here, quickly now."

I was dragged into Daisy's shop. She set me at the bottom of the stairs, then they both dragged me up the stairs by my shoulders. The red-haired woman finally got me up on Daisy's bed. Through my good eye, I could see Daisy rushing around, looking for something. She pulled a first aid box out of her dresser drawer and got a stimpak out. She applied it to my shoulder.

"What happened?" asked Daisy.

"An attack. One of Vic's guards was going to rape me in an alley, and John saved me. Vic had him punished for killing one of Vic's men."

"God be with us in these horrible times . . ."

I tried to open my mouth to speak, but my throat was as dry as a desert.

"Watch him while I go and get some water," said Daisy. She disappeared down the stairs.

The woman sat on the edge of my bed. The only expression she would show was one of anger. Her fists were balled up and her eyebrows drawn together. Her mouth was positioned into a frown.

I tried again. "W-what's . . . your . . . name?" I rasped.

"Abigail."

Daisy returned with a bottle of water. She turned the cap and set it down on the bedside table. She lifted up my head and placed the bottle against my lips. She slowly poured the water into my mouth. I drank it gratefully. Daisy set the water down and returned to her shop downstairs.

After a few moments, I was finally starting to feel better. The worst part about healing up after the stimpak was the bones resetting. When I felt well enough, I sat up off the pillow slowly and propped myself up on my elbows.

"Abigail, huh?"

"Yeah."

"You saved my life."

"It shouldn't have come to that."

"That's just – "

"The way it is here. I know. But if Vic doesn't play fair, I don't see why we should."

"'We?' I told you, get outta here while you can."

"I feel like I can't. I'm going to kill that bastard . . ."

"Ain't no sense in goin' and gettin' yourself killed."

"I won't be the one dying."

"Whatever. You do you, but I'm tellin' ya, you need to just leave."

* * *

A few days went by. My wounds had healed completely. Daisy gave me another shirt from her shop stock for free. I thanked her. I was glad to get out of her house, because I was having withdrawal symptoms. The last two days, I've been stoned out of my mind, sleeping on the sidewalk, eating scraps.

I thought, This is it. Might as well just end it now. I'm barely making it. No one's gonna miss me.

I couldn't stand looking at my own reflection. I was a fucking coward. I let people die. I didn't even try to help. I just watched. Worse, I looked away. I always ran from everything. I didn't even care if I was running from myself at this point. I felt the drug in my pocket that could end it all. I'd be too dead to feel sorry for myself.

I found a secluded place on a rooftop, sat down, and injected myself with the glowing green liquid. The radiation-filled drug coursed through my veins. I threw my head back in ecstasy as the strangely unique burn filled my blood stream and lulled my brain into a colorful dance of thoughts.

My surroundings had completely changed. The fading blue sky turned bright white, and the setting sun turned purple. The dead trees outside the city were waving at me. The distant, constant gunfire sounded like a barrage of drums. My body felt like it was floating.

I looked at my hands, and my fingers were moving in ways that I'd never seen before, like waves on the water, though I was pretty sure I was keeping them still. Everything below my waist started to tingle. I could feel a hard-on coming, but I was too high to even give myself a handy.

The concrete rooftop moved like quicksand. My foot disappeared into it, and I started to panic before I realized it stopped at my ankle. It felt like something was massaging my foot rather than eating it. I leaned my head back and looked up at the clouds that changed to the color orange and watched them change into shapes of beautiful women.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was aware that I was fucked up. For a few seconds, I contemplated how long it would take for me to die. Then that train of thought crashed as I watched literal rays of light radiate from the purple setting sun and cover the cloud girls in glittery dust that rained down on me and into my eyes.

* * *

I was disappointed that the drug didn't kill me. What a way to die that would have been. Instead, my hair started falling out. Even the stubble of my facial hair disappeared. I always felt sick. I couldn't keep any food down. I could barely drink water. Most people that saw me puking my guts up just walked by with their usual "John's drunk again" looks. If they only knew how sick I really was, they'd shoot me and put me out of my misery.

I couldn't take rad-x or radaway. It burned my throat every time I tried. My skin started peeling. It started gradually as flakes. Then, layers started falling off in different spots, leaving huge gashes in my arms. I became so disgusted with myself, I hid in the most secluded alley in Goodneighbor. I felt worse than a lepar.

I hadn't seen that Abigail girl in a long time. I wondered if she had left. Actually, I hoped that she had left. I couldn't even count my friends on one hand. Looking the way I did, I was going to keep it that way.

After a few days, I realized that I was going through the painful transformation of becoming a ghoul. The skin over my nose started to deteriorate, like many other ghouls. The sores on my skin didn't even scab over. They healed quickly and covered themselves in scar tissue. My whole body burned. The sores were so bad, I couldn't wear clothes. I hid behind a dumpster in the alley and cried myself to sleep most nights.

I felt lower than low. I thought about just taking my switchblade and ending it right there. I don't know what kept me from doing it. Maybe the hope that it would be over soon. Maybe because I was too cowardly to do it. Maybe because it's what I thought I deserved. All I knew was, the ghoulification was going insanely fast.

Within the first two days, I had lost all my hair. The day after that, my nose started deteriorating and my skin became softer, almost squisky. And all the while, my skin had been flaking.

It was a rainy day. The rain provided little comfort to my burning skin, but I was starting to get used to it. In fact, it felt like it was finally subsiding. My nose was pretty much gone. My eyes felt weird and stingy. I rubbed my bald head and sighed heavily. Maybe the worst of it was over. I took a chance at standing up and putting my pants and shirt back on. I didn't feel any sores on my body. I laced my boots back on.

A looked down at a puddle at my feet. My face was . . . freakish. My eyes were completely black. All my hair was gone. My nose became a triangular hole in my face. I groaned. It wasn't until then that I realized all my addictions were gone. I didn't have a craving for beer, med-x, mentats, jet, anything. I wasn't even hungry or thirsty.

I was immune to all natural causes of death.

I made my way out of the alley and walked through the rain. One of Vic's boys walked by me, and I flinched.

"Relax, scavver," he said with annoyance.

 _Scavver?_ He didn't recognize me. Well, that's one good thing.

I stopped my Daisy's shop.

"Welcome," said Daisy. "Always nice to see a new face around here. Can I get you anything?"

"Maybe another shirt," I said, hoping she'd catch on. I barely recognized my own voice. It sounded like I took a gulp of acid. My voice was more gravelly and rough.

"We've got a few clothes for sale here."

I just shook my head. "I'm just kiddin'. Wouldn't wanna give my favorite girl any trouble." Surely she would catch on to that one. I always called her my "favorite girl."

"Excuse me? I barely know you, mister. If you're gonna hit on an old girl, at least try something more original."

I put my hands in my pockets and leaned over the counter. "It's me, Daisy."

"John?" Her black eyes searched mine. "John McDonough?"

I nodded.

"Oh, my God. I thought you were . . ." She covered her mouth as she started to tear up. "I'm so sorry that you're . . . like me."

I reached a hand out, and she placed hers in mine. "Hey, hey, no need for tears. I'm still me. Unfortunately."

"John. There's nothing wrong with you."

I patted her hand. "Thanks, Daisy. Goodneighbor don't deserve you."

"What are you going to do now?"

"I don't know. I look different, but nothin's changed. Goodneighor's still a shithole, I got nowhere to go, no money. If only I had somethin' that'd tie me down, make me feel like I should keep tryin'."

"Find yourself a good woman, John."

"Heh. That might have been easier when I wasn't a ghoul."

She frowned. "Well, I can't say I don't understand that. In any case, please, take better care of yourself."

"No promises."

* * *

No matter what I did, I couldn't get high enough. I was back at it with the chems, because they helped me escape this shitty reality. Sure I didn't have any caps, but there were a few people in Goodneighbor that owed me a few favors.

I finally got my hands on some "daddy-o" and "day tripper." Two of the best homemade drugs in the Commonwealth. I took 'em both at the same time with a beer, and I finally got the high I'd been wanting. Maybe this time . . . This time, the drugs would kill me.

Instead, I blacked out and didn't know what happened. I found myself in a place that I wasn't familiar with. When I cleared my head and could focus again, I realized I was in the Old State House. How I got in, I'd never know. How long I'd been out of it, I'd never know. But there I was, laying in front of a dressed up mannequin. It had a red frock coat, a blue vest, blue pants, and black boots. There was a black tricornered hat on top of the mannequin's head.

I read the label at the mannequin's feet. John Hancock. I looked at the mannequin again. There was an old American flag hanging on the wall behind him. I may have still been high. Or drunk. Or neither. But for once in my life, the pieces started to click together.

This was my calling.

I put the clothes of John Hancock on. The pants were a little baggy on me, so I ripped the flag off the wall and tied it around my waist as a belt. Lastly, I put the hat on my head. This town needed a true leader, someone to bring the people out of the darkness. I was going to become that person. No more running.

I poked my head out of the room I was in. It was a back room of the Old State House that had a bunch of prewar junk in it. To my knowledge, the Old State House was a museum after they didn't have a use for it, so there was some Civil War crap in there that was pushed to the side. I didn't see any of Vic's boys by the spiral staircase, so I quickly rushed through the main room to the door.

When I burst out the door to the street of Goodneighbor, it was the middle of the day and the sun was shining. I had no way of knowing what time it was, but I knew that Kleo's gun shop was still open. I walked in the direction of her shop, lighting a cigarette for the trip.

The looks I got from the other citizens were surprised at best. I just chuckled. Little did they know, they were staring at a revolutionist.

I laid my elbows on Kleo's counter with my cigarette perched between my lips. "What do we got, Kleo?"

"More than you can handle, baby."

Kleo, or K-L-E-O, was a reprogrammed assaultron. Rather, she gave herself a new designation. She had a feminine robotic voice, soft and sultry. She even believed herself to be a strong independent woman.

"Wouldn't be able to talk you into lending me a few guns, would I?"

"I don't do handouts. Take your business elsewhere, scavver. Or whatever you are."

"Kleo, Kleo, it's me." I smiled. "John."

"John? I'll be damned. Where have you been, baby? What happened to you?"

"It's a long, pathetic story. Anyway, keep it hush-hush that I'm still around . . . I'm planning to kill Vic, and I need guns. Lots of them."

"At least someone's willing to do something." She stood silently in thought for a few moments. "How many guns do you need, baby?"

"As many as you can spare."

"Fine, but you break it, you buy it."

"Of course. Wouldn't expect it to go any other way. Besides, if I take Vic out, I'll be able to buy half your shop."

"We'll see about that, baby. Just focus on recruiting people for your little revolution."

I tipped my hat to her with a grin and walked away from her shop. I knew that it would be easy to find people who'd want to stick it to Vic and his boys. I went from door to door like a salesperson with whispers of anarchy on my lips. I checked every dumpster and alleyway for drifters that wanted a piece of the action. We made a plan to climb the rooftops and hide the next time Vic's boys were taking the night off to ambush them.

While I impatiently waited for the day to come, I made myself go clean for a while so that I could keep a clear head. My ghoulism kept me from getting addicted to anything anyway. A beer wouldn't hurt, though. I spent most of my time in Whitechapel Charlie's presence, ordering drink after drink, trying to keep my mind off of the anticipation. It took some convincing before Charlie believed that I was John McDonough. When he finally believed me, he reminded me that my tab wasn't going to pay itself. Should have just let him believe I was some freak drifter in a red coat.

"Heard you're starting some kind of war," said a familiar voice.

I turned and searched the bar. That girl, Abigail, was sitting across the room from me on a sofa, drinking a dark liquid from a glass.

"You heard right, sister."

"You may wanna keep it on the low burner next time. You don't want the people you're planning on killing to know that they're going to be killed."

I chuckled. "I get where you're comin' from."

She walked over to the bar with her glass and took a seat on a stool next to me. Now that she was up close, I noticed that she looked pretty roughed up.

"You look like shit."

"Look who's talkin'," she retorted.

"Touche."

"Found a job. This little farmstead needed help with super mutants who were raiding their farms. I took out most of them, with a considerably painful slug to the face with a nail board." She rubbed her bruised, swollen cheek. "Two got away. I didn't bother returning for my pay. I didn't finish the job." She took a gulp of her alcohol and placed the slightly chilled glass against the bruise.

"Tell you what. You help me in this little revolution, and I'll pay you."

"With what? Radroach meat?"

"Funny . . . Caps. Lots of them. I may not have them just yet, but I will."

"I'll hold you to that."

We clinked our glasses together.

"Thanks again," she muttered.

"For?"

"Saving me in that alley. You took one hell of a beating."

"Heh. You know who I am?"

"Again, it's one of those things that's floating around."

"Damn. I only told three people."

"You have a . . . distinct way of carrying yourself. It's hard to mistake."

"It that obvious?"

She nodded and took another sip. "The way you walk, talk, etcetra. You're definitely John McDonough."

"You're pretty unmistakable yourself."

"How so?"

I fished through my pocket for a cigarette. I was done with my beer and didn't plan on ordering anymore. I needed a clear head. I lit a cigarette for me and gave Abigail one. She took it gratefully.

"I mean, you're one hell of a fire cracker. There's something about you. Your temper maybe? You remind me of a fire just waitin' for someone to spill the gasoline."

She snickered. "I've always had a shit temper. I guess it's a red-head thing."

I shrugged. "Anyway, I'm not John McDonough anymore. That piece of wasted space is dead."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I'm John Hancock now."

She stifled a laugh. "Okay . . ."

"And you're my second in command."

"Oh, really? What perks come with this new ranking?"

"You'll see."

"Do I get a new name?"

I hadn't thought about it before. But if she wanted a new name, too, I'd come up with something. I rubbed my chin in thought. ". . . Fahrenheit."

* * *

We kept our voices low as we talked over the plan. The people I recruited gathered together in the alley across from the Old State House. We took turns coming up with ideas for our plan of action. We finally settled on a plan, then we went out of the alley one by one to get a gun from Kleo's shop. We didn't want to draw attention in case one of Vic's goons was still roaming the streets.

Kleo's and Daisy's shops closed down for the night. It was getting late. Soon, it was half past ten. By this time, the folks that didn't wanna take part in our revolution knew to hide in their homes and lock the doors in case this went sideways. The streets were so quiet, you could hear a bottlecap drop on the pavement thirty feet away.

We crept out of our hiding spot in the alley and formed a single file line toward the Old State House. We could hear Vic's boys making merry inside, taking the night off, drinking and playing cards. Vic had to be in his office. Abigail – or Fahrenheit – and I split up. She and a larger group barged in through the doors of the first floor, surrounding the Old State House from all sides, while me and a smaller group climbed the side ladder through the window of the second floor.

No one suspected a thing. Once we were inside, we didn't even have to fire a shot. The sheer numbers we had on our side said it all. They put their hands up with dumbfounded expressions on their faces. Their eyes said, "I don't wanna die." Did we care?

"Waste 'em."

No one hesitated to pull their trigger after I gave the OK to fire. It was a bloodbath. Everyone was massacred. Downstairs I could faintly hear Fahrenheit's gunfire over our own. The doors to Vic's office swung open after the noise started to die down.

"What the fuck is going on?!" The short, red-faced man with sleek black hair and a pressed suit didn't look so tough anymore. He had no one to back him up. Fahrenheit and her group came up the spiral stairs.

"Hold your fire," I told everyone.

Vic ran back inside his room. I heard him lock the doors and start dragging furniture across the room to barricade the doors.

"Heh. Spineless son of a bitch." I turned to Fahrenheit. "You and your group spread out, check all the rooms, every single floor. We're not lettin' any of 'em get away . . ." I waved to the rest of my group to help me knock bust in Vic's doors.

"Don't! I'll shoot!" he screamed with little to no masculinity. His shakey hands pointed a revolver in our direction.

"So will we," I said, hoisting my weapon of choice, the shotgun. "Drop your fucking gun."

He cursed under his breath and dropped the gun to the floor. He held his hands up over his head.

"Tie him up," I told two men to my right.

We had brought rope just for Vic. I searched through his cabinets and his desk.

"Who the fuck are you?" he growled.

"You know who I am, fucker."

"McDonough? Holy hell . . . Thought you crawled your way to an alley to die after my boys beat the shit out of you."

I absently answered him while checking his files. "Yeah, you wish . . ."

While he was busy spouting obscenities, my boys had finished tying his hands behind his back and his feet together. I was getting really tired of hearing his voice. I pinched my sinuses.

Fahrenheit walked into the office. "Place is clean."

"Good." I looked at the entirety of our forces. "Everyone, take whatever you want." At that, people started scrambling to fill their pockets with whatever they could find. Silver dinnerware, gold watches, loose caps, cigarettes, cigars, chems – you name it, Vic had it.

I came across a file that had all his "laws" in them. Two in particular that I was looking for was the tax law and what Vic liked to call the "untouchable law." This law meant that if anyone attacked his men for whatever purpose, even for self-defense, it was punishable by torture and, in extreme cases, death.

I wadded both of them up and shoved them into Vic's running mouth. "Shut the fuck up already."

I searched the room for his safe. I didn't feel like looking for the damn keys, so I blew the lock off with my shotgun. Yeah, it left a few holes in the floor, but whatever. Inside, I found roughly 80,000 caps. I looked to Fahrenheit.

"Take some of this and give every citizen two-hundred caps each. Not every family. Each individual citizen."

She nodded and filled her pockets.

Vic was grumbling and groaning in protest, trying to speak past the paper wads.

"What next?" asked Fahrenheit.

I took what was left of the rope and tied it around Vic's neck. Vic was in a panic now. I dragged him out of the seat by his neck, and he coughed under the rope's pressure.

Fahrenheit smiled a devious smile and helped me drag him through the Old State House, past the spiral stairs, into the room adjacent to the office. We shoved open the doors and hoisted him over the railing and threw him over the balcony without so much as one utterance.

As Vic's wiggling body finally stopped moving, I knew that this little revolution was finally over.

I shot off my shotgun in the air and whooped loudly, Fahrenheit joining me with both her middle fingers raised in the air.

"Damn, you did good, sister."

Below, people were assembling in the street. They were looking up at me. At _me_. If I was more soft-hearted, I woulda teared up. I never thought of myself as a leader, but I sure was gonna try my damnedest for these people. I didn't know what to say. Nothing came to me. But with everyone looking at me with bright, hopeful eyes, the words finally came.

I holstered my shotgun. "Of the People, For the People!"

Everyone cheered. I got chills. From that day forward, I became Mayor Hancock of Goodneighbor.

* * *

Being the Mayor wasn't too tough. It was nice, actually. Cleaning up the Old State House of rotting corpses and blood stains was actually the hardest part. Everyone received their two-hundred caps, I paid Fahrenheit about a thousand, and kept the rest to start up open trade routes.

It was all well and good, until we had a super mutant raid, and none of Vic's boys were here to defend the city. We all had to work together, which wasn't as easy as just taking Vic and his goons out. Super mutants were big, dumb, brutal, and chaotic. We lost a few people in that first raid. Fahrenheit made a point to protect me, so she doubled as my bodyguard.

Good thing, too. There were people who actually had it out for me after a while. I showed the town justice myself. I was a hands-on type of mayor, unlike Vic. When someone did wrong, like stealing, beating, molesting . . . I was there to show them the knife.

Eventually, I earned a lot of respect in town. No one called me John McDonough anymore. They called me Mayor Hancock.

I got a few thugs together and hired them to be my neighborhood watch. We cleaned up the Third Rail, got Charlie a better stash of alcohol, and got a bouncer working there. Ham, we called him. Good guy, great at his job. Later on, a songbird came into town by the name of Magnolia. Real head scratcher, that one. She didn't talk about herself much. She _sang_ about herself. Said her story was in the songs. Though I flirted and flirted with her, she wouldn't touch me. Not because I was a ghoul, but because she was searching for the right man, apparently. I offered her a job at the Third Rail and a free, permanent room at Hotel Rexford, and Goodneighbor became one hell of a bar.

More drifters starting coming through town. The best part was no one had to be afraid of living there. We lived freely, did what we want. I prefered if people took justice into their own hands. Someone stole from you? Cut their fingers off. Someone beat your girl? Blow their damn brains out. I praised those who stood up for others. Rewarded them with their choice of caps or chems.

I was swimming in chems. I could afford all I needed. People started asking me for favors. It got so out of hand, I had to start collecting. Half the citizens of Goodneighbor owed me something, whether it was those caps I lent or those chems they needed. Shit, I was a generous guy, but I wasn't gonna let my own citizens walk all over me.

I had shipments coming in from different traders throughout the Commonwealth. I eventually had to do paperwork in my office to keep up with all the shipments. Some were to simply keep the town stocked. The people had to eat and drink something. The rest when to the shops and the bar. I made quite a bit of caps. No matter how you look at it, I was a better mayor in every aspect of the word than Vic ever was.

We went on to make Goodneighbor a better place for a few years. I had had different lovers during those times. I didn't feel very connected to any of those girls. I wasn't recognized much as a human, and even less as a ghoul. When I became the mayor, all of that changed. Sure, I was blind to it and didn't question it for a while. I had everything I could have ever wanted. Money, drugs, booze, loose girls, and the people's respect.

Girl after girl, night after night, I started feeling empty inside. I went back to heavy drug usage because of the stress that came with the job. Fahrenheit did a few with me, but I wouldn't let her get addicted to anything, so I kept a good stash of addictol around the office just in case.

Although Fahrenheit was a talented young woman and was pretty damn good looking, I never thought of her as a romantic companion. Even if she wasn't a lesbian, I don't think I could bring myself to try anything with her. I saw her more as a sister or a daughter than a lover. I had a great respect for her. She helped me when I needed her. She was the only person I could truly count on.

The years went by, Fahrenheit was getting older, and I hadn't changed a bit. We both got stronger, but it became apparent that I really wasn't aging at all. Fahrenheit had to cut her hair a few times, even gained a little weight, got bags under her eyes from stress. Fahrenheit was almost thirty years old. Technically, I was pushing forty. I wondered how old my brother looked . . .

I tried not to think about him, but it had been so long since I had seen him. He was gray-haired the last time I spoke to him. I guess you could say we became rival mayors, both stuck in our lonely towers. At least I had more going for me than he did.

One day, Fahrenheit and I were going over business plans between the Old State House and Kleo's shop. While we were standin' there, I overheard some familiar voices by the gate, along with an unfamiliar voice. When I looked, one of my guys, Finn, was hassling an old friend of mine, Nick Valentine. Nicky had some girl with him. She had long blonde hair, a dirty face, and a merc's outfit on. She didn't look like the mercenary type, so I figured she was just some poser that got Nick to take some lame-ass case to find her missing boyfriend or something. She was easy on the eyes, though.

Finn was one of my best guys. He was ruthless in combat, but usually harmless to scavvers and drifters. He was annoying at most. But today, he was hassling a newcomer and one of my personal friends. How long had he been hassling folks at the gate? I handed Fahrenheit the papers we were going over and marched over to Finn.

"Whoa, whoa,. Time out. Nick Valentine makes a rare visit to town, and you're hassling his friend here with that extortion crap? Good to see you again, Nick."

We had a disagreement, seeing as he didn't appreciate my tone. I groaned quietly with suppressed frustration. I knew I was going to have to take him out, make him an example to my citizens. It was going to be a pain in the ass, being one man down.

I stabbed him in the gut twice and let him crumble to the pavement. I shot a look to the onlookers that gathered around, and they turned their heads and continued their business. I wiped my knife off on my red coat. "Now why'd you have to go and say that, huh?" I said to the corpse. "Breakin' my heart over here." I eyed the newcomer. I knew Nick could handle himself, but this girl . . . She looked like she didn't know a snake from a shoelace. "You alright, sister?"

"You. You're . . . a Ghoul?"

Not the answer I was expecting, but I went with it. "That's right. Like my face? I think it gives me a sexy king-of-the-zombies kind of look. Big hit with the ladies."

She raised an eyebrow at me, obviously not taken by my charm.

I sighed. "Listen, lots of walkin' rad freaks like me around here, so you might wanna keep those kinds of questions on the low burner next time. Goodneighbor's of the People, for the People, ya feel me? Everyone's welcome."

Her expression slowly changed into a grin. "Of the People, for the People? Oh, brother . . ."

Her smile was strangely contagious. So, she _did_ have a sense of humor after all. "Heh heh heh. I can tell I'm gonna like you already. Just consider this town your home away from home . . . so long as you remember who's in charge."

I walked back to the Old State House doors and waved Fahrenheit with me.

Fahrenheit mumbled to the newcomer, "Another player in Goodneighbor. Hello, little Pawn. Welcome to our fun and games."

She closed the door behind us. Fahrenheit had really been taking her role as bodyguard and second-in-command pretty seriously. She saw Goodneighbor as one side of the chessboard, and everything outside the gate as the other side of the chessboard. It was almost unsettling, but I had to admit I liked the way she operated. She got the job done.

"What was that about?" she asked me as I reached the office. She flopped down on one of my worn out sofas.

"What was what about?"

"You fucking stabbed Finn. Now we're a man down."

"He was hustling a newcomer. That's against my rules . . ."

"We don't _have_ rules, Hancock."

I sat down on the couch across from her. "We do. Unspoken laws. Finn knew better than to pull that kind of shit."

"I think you just wanted to impress some woman."

"Pft. Whatever." I picked up a canister of jet from my coffee table. I wasn't just trying to impress her. But in the same breath, she was pretty interesting.

"Now, about this Bobby No-Nose business. We know she's going to try to steal from your storeroom. Her workers can't keep their mouths shut."

"Right. That's what you get when the hired help is cheap and unreliable."

"She seems to forget that we know everything that goes on in this town. I can't believe she'd turn her back on you, after everything you've done to put a roof over her head and pick her business up off the ground."

"If she actually pulls this off, I'll be surprised."

"She'll die trying."

* * *

A few days after Fahrenheit and I started monitoring Bobby's actions, I realized that her newest hired help was the newcomer from the gates. In the back of my mind, I was almost worried that she was going to get her ass handed to her on a silver platter. When Fahrenheit pursued Bobby and her hired help, I was surprised to hear that the newcomer not only survived but helped take Bobby down.

My heart beat against my chest to think that the newcomer could have easily taken Fahrenheit and our lackies down. She was more dangerous than I thought. It was . . . attractive.

When the newcomer came into my office as Fahrenheit instructed, we had a chat.

"Well, if it ain't Bobbi's little patsy. Here, for protecting my stash. Two-hundred caps." I handed her a little bag. She grinned that grin again. "Wise decision, putting Bobbi down like that."

"So . . . we're okay?"

"We are." I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall. I didn't know how she was gonna take this next bit, but I tried to play it cool. "Lemme tell ya. This classy little tricorner hat of mine is getting heavy. Am I turning into The Man? Some kind of tyrant? I spend all my time putting down the people I would have been proud to scheme with just a few years ago. I need to take a walk again. Get a grip on what really matters: living free."

"Can you just up and leave Goodneighbor? Aren't you the mayor?"

"Hey, the mayor's still the mayor whether he's 'in residence' or not. I've walked outta here plenty of times. Keeps me honest. Can't let power get to my head. That's not what being in charge of Goodneighbor is about."

"Well, I'll see you around, Hancock."

I blinked. I guess she didn't get the message. I was willing to be her traveling companion for a while. She seemed to have her mind on other matters.

I just nodded and played it off. "Yeah. You too. Gonna take some time to think about all this. And hey, you ever need a good-looking ghoul to watch your back, let me know."

"Alright. Thanks."

I wadded my fists into a ball in frustration.

Fahrenheit entered the room again. "I heard all that. You _are_ trying to impress her."

"This girl, Fahrenheit. There's something different about her. What the fuck goes on in her head? What's her story? She walked in here looking like she was born yesterday, and proved us both wrong by gunning her way through the sewers and protecting my safehouse."

She shrugged. "I admit, she doesn't seem that bad. A little naive, maybe, but she's got a good head on her shoulders."

I rubbed my brow. "I wonder if she'll come back."

That's when I regretted letting her walk out the first time. She had done a few odd jobs around Goodneighbor, but I was too unsure to talk to her. It's like she sucked all the confidence right out of me. I told myself to get a grip, stop choking up over one girl that barely looked at me, but this girl was almost as intoxicating as the syringe. I just hoped and prayed that she would walk through those doors again.


End file.
